


To visit an Athenian ... with a musician

by LindaMaceMichalik



Series: Going to the mountain [2]
Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander Trilogy - Mary Renault
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 18:44:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindaMaceMichalik/pseuds/LindaMaceMichalik
Summary: What if Hephaestion, instead of being reconciled to Alexander after he shamed Hephaestion in public over the latter's arguments with Eumenes, asked and was allowed to return to Greece?309BC -15 years after Hephaestion did not die at Ecbatana.Part 2 following on from 'To visit an Athenian'Alternative part 2's extremely welcome!





	To visit an Athenian ... with a musician

He stepped into the room. 

Warmth, scent of Persian spices. For a moment he forgot where he was - Persepolis? No he had burnt Persepolis to the ground at Thais's bidding - twenty years ago was it? They'd thrust torches at the fragrant wood and embellished fabrics, seen great curtains of sacred fire sweep up into the night; run in their cups, intoxicated as young men new to the rites of the Bacchae. They had forgotten it was their own palace they burnt - may Ahura Mazda forgive them, him most of all.

His eyes blinked, dazzled at the golden light of the candelabra and the red glow from the fire after being in the engulfing darkness of the moonless garden. An elegant room, a fitting home he had made for himself. Always so capable, so fine. He smiled - in this at least he had not changed.

Hephaestion sat at his couch, divining the fire in his hearth. He did not turn. Too trusting. But maybe he had a dagger hidden in the frame of the couch?

"Ptolemy's musician! Will you play for me?" he asked, not turning, scenting a treasured fragrance from long ago.

The player un-slung the bag off his shoulder and lightly plucked across the seven strings of the lyre, turning pegs, humming in a light tenor, the lyre slightly out of tune in coming in from the cold. He waited for Hephaestion to speak.

"Now - what will you play for me - of the Maenads stripping Orpheus of his life perhaps? Apollo should never have gifted his son with that lyre, it set him onto his inescapable destiny.

Tell me musician, why do the gods beget children with humans - it never ends well?"

He does not answer. Adjusts the lay of the lyre instead and waits.

"No... play me the song Orpheus composed to lure his Eurydice out of Hades."

Always Dionysius as their patron - had it been Achilles or was it Patroclus that played the Lyre on the shores of Illyium in their boat-berthed tents while the Greeks went to battle mighty Hector -  
Achilles sulking, Myrmidons tensely stood down? Hubris - but whose - Agammenon's or Achille's?

Softly he plucked the melody before launching into a plaintive verse in his clear, sweet tenor, begging - the song told of an unbroken love, of soulmates too soon parted. The lines of the refrain repeating Orpheus' longing - he could not be without his Eurydice - till even the gods wept. The last strings stilled as the breeze guttered the candles. 

"Beautiful" Phaestion murmured.

"And will you not turn to me now dear?" the lyre player asked.

"Ah but we're still before the gates of Hades singer - would you have the Maenads deny me a second pass over the Styx and claw my life as well as my lover from me?"

"Phaestion, for the love of what we were, turn to me!"

"And who do I turn to - the singer, or the king?"

"To your Alexander!" he sobbed.

"But he's gone to bed half an hour since!"  
He was mocking him with his Ephebe!

The ash blonde man set down his lyre and stepped up to the couch, laying his hand on Phaestion's shoulder.  
"Please!"

Hephaestion turned into the hand and looked up into the battle scarred face - beautiful as old polished bronze, his fire from heaven burning still.

Alexander looked down in wonder and want. Gods be blessed - he was stunning, as if fifteen years had only served to return him into the Miezan youth that had haunted Alexanders youthful night time fantasies!

Hephaestion gestured at the jug and cup on his couch side table.  
"Wine my king?"

Alexander growled low.  
"Will you never cease to punish me my love? Will you not forgive the friend for having to play the king?"

Hephaestion flared.  
"Craterus then Eumenes - the king sided with them! My friend became the king and abandoned his lover! Don't hide between your philoalexandros and philobasilikas Xander! It ill becomes your godhead!"

Alexander hissed back.  
"Damn your pride - always having to prove yourself, never accepting my gifts, always having to exceed all others to take anything I gave freely to the rest! You are the damnedest of creatures Phaestion - stiff, unforgiving!"

"And you are a fool!  
What possessed you to expose yourself to such danger in travelling here?"

"I heard you Phai!" a conciliatory, cajoling tone.  
He stoppped, poured himself some wine. Taking the cup he spilt a libation on the floor and sank onto the corner of Hephaestion's couch.

"I heard you Phai, you would not go to Alexandria, you would not go to Babylon." A small catch to his throat.  
"You would not come to me."

"Alexander, you would never learn to swim!"

"What?"

"If you will eavesdrop at least have the decency to hear it all!  
We cannot step in the same river twice!"

"Heraclitus?"

"Yes!"

They sat silently, side by side. The distance on the couch between them no less than the miles between Athens and Babylon.

The night too was still excepting the gentle stirring of leaves, softly sighing outside the open window. Hephaestion bent and tossed a few cedar logs onto the remaining shards of burning wood. It was a comfortable silence between old friends. A gratefully accepted refuge for hurt pride.

 

Hephaestion leaned across and picked up the lyre and offered it to Alexander.  
"Will you play me that song?"

"The one from the Myrmidons?" 

"Yes when Achilles was being his most bloody minded ..." said Hephaestion.

Xander cradled the lyre to his chest and looked across to his most treasured friend.  
"... and so he tried to cheer himself up and his Patroclus while they lurked in their tent, not speaking?"

"yes" said Phaestion "thats the one ..."

"Master Aristotle was none too pleased with that song when we saw it played in Euripides' Myrmidons at Pella."

"I remember Xander! He looked daggers at me across the auditorium and made me blush ... but you wouldn't let go of my hand."

Alexander crooned the song, low over the lyre as the fragrant cedar burnt slow. One candle burnt low, sputtered out. The room dimmed. The music softened the air and dissolved into the walls into silence.

"And now?" Asked Alexander lifting his eyes into Hephaestion's.

"Come here, then" said Hephaestion with gentle arrogance. "Come here and say hello to me."

**Author's Note:**

> last line re-purposed, lifted from Ralph Lanyon, chpt15, the charioteers, Mary Renault
> 
> I just found the series tool 😎 and linked these two parts!


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